


Wrath of Man

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Additional tags as fic progresses, F/M, Plotline occurs before in-game events, Reader-Insert, mentally ill reader, so slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The last few years have been rough for you and your partner, Hank Anderson. Fed up, Fowler decides that maybe another partner is just what you two need. A fresh breath of air, one would say.No sooner does Connor arrive an increasingly macabre case begins to unfold before the three of you. One that grows darker and more twisted by the day. You may have hit it off immediately with Connor, but can the three of you work well enough together to solve the case behind your copycat killer before it's too late?Reader-insert; contains dark themes and a plotline strongly founded on the basis of mental illness. Please read the tags as they update.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Wrath of Man

It was somewhere between your second and third cup of the hour that the file appeared.

Innocuous enough, but placed directly upon your keyboard. Demanding your immediate attention, and even accessorized with a bright yellow sticky and your name in a scrawl you could hardly read.

You kicked your chair aside and hummed into the fog of instant bliss as you scooted the manila over in favor of logging back into your computer. There were plenty of other assignments left to do; Fowler would just have to wait.

By the time you’d reached the bottom of your cup and slotted it into the wobbling tower you’d been perfecting over the last three days, an email had begun blinking obnoxiously in the lower right sector of your monitor. No doubt the Captain, wondering why you hadn’t tripped over yourself to get back to him with whatever this newest addition happened to be.

Or Hank, you scoffed, allowing for a laugh. Hell, you wished you were sitting by his side right about now, void to the wonders of constant paperwork and a staggering workload. You were starting to hear the constant _tap tap tap_ of keys in your dreams, and at the rate things were going you’d be waving a tiny white flag astride a pile of casework and evidence.

All the same, you knew yourself.

With a sigh, you clicked on the blinking notification and resigned yourself to another sleepless night.

“Oof.” You leaned back in your chair, fist to eyes, pressing hard against a growing headache. God, you really needed to give Hank a good kick in the shin. Then he could turn around and give _you_ one, too.

“Way to go, (L/N),” you huffed another sigh, glaring at the damning paper folder before slapping it open.

Inside was what appeared to be a sort of application. A resume, even. The first page had a black and white photo in the corner, depicting an android you weren’t familiar with. Beneath it were specs and a menagerie of other things you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, even after a proper scolding. What _was_ all this?

You tossed that page aside, squinting at the next. At the top was Fowler’s signature, detailing what looked to be a reassignment.

A new addition to your team, you realized.

Going back to the page you’d shoved aside, you stared down at the tiny image once more. The android, an RK800 model, you read, looked innocent enough. Boyish, cute even. A model designed to aid the DPD in their work due to the influx of Android related crimes. Beneath the photo were a series of sub-paragraphs you were likely required to skim over before his arrival.

**FORENSICS AND RECONSTRUCTION**

**PSYCHOLOGY, NEGOTIATION, INTERROGATION**

**VOCAL IMITATION**

**MARTIAL SKILLS**

Frowning, you put the page aside again, feeling dirty. Here you were reading all about this android like he were no more than a wiki page, digressing all his skills and abilities with ease. You’d feel violated knowing someone had done the same to you, so what right did you have?

Fishing into your pocket, you thumbed over to your texting app before tapping out a brief message Hank’s way.

**7:57 PM** _**“** _ _Got something exciting waiting for you back here. Don’t be mad"_

Knowing better than to expect a reply, you sent a quick response Fowler’s way before shoving the folder for a final time. It seemed your new addition would be arriving the following morning, meaning you had _plenty_ of time to finish your ever growing workload, right? Right.

You stood, another cup of coffee on your mind, but paused, eyes roaming over the dog eared corner of the shifty little resume you’d set aside.

RK800. _Connor_ , so the pages supplied.

Hm.

\- - -

Evening came and went, and with it all hope of Hank’s reply. Probably asleep, you thought, rolling into bed. It was much later than you’d meant to turn in, but for reasons unknown you’d been eerily anxious that day. Thoughts of a new partner, the inevitable tension he’d bring, had you staring into the darkness you knew to be your ceiling. Hank was sure to hate him; as would the rest of the precinct, knowing their predisposition to androids these days. The kid would have it rough, no doubt. And on that note, how did _you_ feel about it, anyway? You’d never felt any certain way towards androids. They were like you, but… not. Their own kind. The number you’d interacted with in life was slim to none, ranging no further from androids in service, as your family had never happened to take one in. It wasn’t uncommon to see them in public, but much like people, you chose not to socialize with a majority of them. You preferred keeping to yourself. It was… safer that way.

With a yawn, you popped the cap off your daily medications, tossed a few back and chased them with water.

In the last vestiges of alertness, you swore to at least _try_ to be amicable, since you damn well knew no one else will.

\---

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. The drive to work was restless, leg thumping against the back of the seat as you scrolled through social media in an attempt to sate your nerves. _Why_ you were so anxious was uncertain; you’d met androids before, and it wasn’t like you were new to having a partner, either. Maybe the thought of Hank and Connor fighting was what had you gnawing on your lower lip, but even then, you’d never known an android to have much of an attitude.

Well, the non-deviated ones, at least. Not that you knew anything more of them than case files and evidence. If it weren’t for the constant yawns, empty pots of coffee, and sleepless nights you’d never have pegged deviancy for a problem as big as it really was.

Now though, with even _Cyberlife_ getting involved…

The taxi came to a steady halt and you clambered out, hefting your work duffel over one shoulder and pocketing your phone with the other. Whatever happened today, you decided again, _happened_. There was no need for worry. No need for concern.

Hank had left you on read, but as you entered the workspace you shared together you found his jacket draped over the back of his chair, slightly askew and away from the desk. Probably nursing a raging hangover and seeking the comfort only _Folgers_ could provide.

Surmise to say, you were more than a little surprised when you found him in Fowler’s office instead, gesticulating wildly. Your hand was on the door before you could stop yourself, but as you went to enter a hand on your elbow stopped you.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

You turned, stuttered, and to your absolute dismay, _blushed_.

Oh.

“My name is Connor,” he continued, nonplussed, “I’m the android sent by _Cyberlife_. Pardon my assumptions, but I believe you to be the Detective from the case file Captain Fowler addressed to me.” His hand, to your continued embarrassment, left your elbow to grasp your hand instead. “I hope we can get off to a better start than Lieutenant Anderson and I did.”

You shook it once, twice, found his grip to be unrelenting and coughed uncomfortably, “Ah… don’t… worry about him, okay? He’s working through some things. My name is Hannah, by the way. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I believe it will benefit our work together if we become friends, so forgive me if I say anything strange. I’m still learning what exactly it means to be… human.”

“Preaching to the choir, buddy.” You laughed, noticing for the first time the spinning yellow LED on Connor’s forehead. It made several rotations before he finally released you, eyebrows drawn down in confusion.

“I wasn’t singing.” He insisted. “And this isn’t a church.”

You snorted, but before you could explain the door to Fowler’s office flew open to reveal Hank in all his anger, an immediate roll of eyes following him when he saw the subject of his distress chatting you up.

“Fucks sake.” He grumbled, shoving past Connor’s greeting. “I’m leaving. Don’t try to call me, Hannah.”

“ _Hank.”_

He ignored you, snatching up his coat.

“Hank!” You insisted, jogging after him. “Fowler has _had_ it with you and you _know_ it! Don’t leave!”

Connor trailed behind you, unsure what to do as your screaming match persisted. All the while Hank batted aside every insult, threat, and plea you threw at him right up to the moment his taxi door slammed in your face. In the seconds before it drove away, he met your eyes long enough to look _something_ close to guilty, and then he was gone.

With a long, drawn out groan, you spun, eyes rolling, ready to go back and face your maker. Instead, you nearly toppled into Connor, who looked more like a kicked puppy than any android you’d ever seen.

“Hey,” you started, but he was already shaking his head, dejected.

“I apologize.” He insisted. “This is my fault. I was sent here to help, but it appears I’m not quite wanted.”

“It’ll improve.” You promised; he offered you a small smile.

“All the same… I’m here to fulfill my mission, regardless of how anyone else may feel about it. I would rather we all got along, but if this is how it has to be, so be it.”

You shuffled, feeling none too awkward. So much for first impressions.

“How about I show you your desk?”

-

Shoving a triage of desks together was easy; there were several vacant in your corner, no one brave enough to voluntarily impede on Hank’s territory. While his reputation had worsened in recent years, his attitude had increased in volumes, leading to fights and in-house brawls more often than not. You could count the days he’d lasted a full shift on one hand, and still had room to consider his remaining vacation days on the other. If he hadn’t once been one of Fowler’s most praised, he’d have long been booted out the door, likely taking _you_ with him. It wasn’t that you disliked the others; Miller was alright, but with people like _Reed_ running around, the risk of winding up paired to him wasn’t worth staying.

That said, Connor looked quite pleased with himself as he settled into _his_ desk – you’d had to repeat yourself three times before he finally accepted having one to himself, and you’d had to imply how _vital_ it would be to his mission on top of that before he’d conceded – fingers crossed neatly over his keyboard. You couldn’t help but smile as you dropped into your own seat, watching him fiddle with the small geode and stack of sticky notes you’d gifted him.

“Like a cat who got the cream.” You teased; his face contorted, LED blinking again.

“I’m an _android_ , Detective. Not a cat.”

“Of course.”

The next few hours were spent watching him set up all his things; logging into software, browsing contacts, fiddling with the back of his keyboard until it was _just_ the right height. He insisted that none of this was _really_ necessary, what with his state of the art processing software built in, but that didn’t seem to stop him from enjoying himself. While he was busy doing that, you dug into the stack of emails that had come in that morning, already resigned to taking on not only yours, but _Hank’s_ workload for the day, as well.

 _Nothing new there_ , you reminded yourself.

But first…

“I’ll be right back.” You said, rising from your chair. “Baby needs _caffeine_.”

“Your file said you’re in your late twenties, Detective.” Connor quipped, already – to your surprise – out of his chair and at your side. “Human age is still new to me, but I’m fairly certain you’re not a baby.”

You briefly entertained the idea of telling him to _google_ it, but decided leaving him in the dark was more fun instead, “You coming with?”

“I don’t have anything else to do,” he reasoned.

On the way, you dipped in and out of a few different rooms, giving what you considered was a _fair_ tour. There weren’t many heads in today, leaving the awkward job of introductions faithfully out of your hands. You didn’t want a repeat of that morning, and had already begun formulating a _very_ scathing talking to for tomorrow, _if_ Hank showed up, that is.

Judging the look on his face, you somehow knew he would.

“And this is the break room,” you waved a hand, oo’ing and ahh’ing, “This is where the magic happens.”

“I,”

“Not real magic,” you interrupted. “I’m talking about _coffee_.” Leading him the last of the way, you pretended to caress the pot, cooing nonsense. “We like to lead stereotypical lives here, Connor. Enjoying coffee is a requirement, and one I’ll need you to dutifully fulfill.”

He watched as you walked him through the process, LED blinking as he tried to formulate just how to tell you androids not only didn’t _need_ coffee, but also couldn’t drink it. Though, judging by the single cup you’d placed on the counter, Connor assumed you already knew that.

Meaning, “This is a joke.”

You stopped, feigning confusion, “Uh?”

“You’re joking.”

“Coffee isn’t a _joke_ , Connor. This is a very serious matter.”

“That is also a joke,” He stated proudly. His smile was infectious; why was he… _cute_? This was weird, you felt weird.

Still, you nodded, pouring generously into the Styrofoam cup, “Well done, young grasshopper.”

“More phrases?”

“Try it on Hank,” you assured him, sipping, “It’ll earn you some brownie points.”

He cocked his head, seemed to think about it, then said, “Thank you.”

The way he said it too, so genuine, heartfelt even, you found yourself grinning over the rim of your cup as he motioned for him to follow you back to your cluster of desks. However, upon your return, Connor’s LED began blinking again, watching you sit, set the cup aside, and then turned his stare to the towering stack that was already there. His face contorted, mouth set firm, “Detective.”

“Yes, Connor?” You were logging back into your computer, already _in the zone_ , and ready to tackle the shit out of some paperwork. Except when you reached for heaven again you found it gone, snatched up and stolen by the very protégé you’d so naively taken in. You looked up at him, betrayed, “That is _mine_.” You gasped.

“How many of these have you had today?”

“Like,” you thought about it, “three. So what?”

His eyes wandered over you briefly, up, down, and back up again. While he didn’t question the sudden flush to your cheeks, he _did_ wonder at the spike in heart rate you exhibited upon inspection.

“Considering your stature and the dosage of caffeine in a typical cup of coffee you are _exceeding_ your daily recommended dose. I have to insist you cease and desist. Your heart rate is accelerating as _is.”_

 _Or maybe it’s because you’re staring at me,_ you thought, “I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” You made grabby hands, “Cough it up, Connor. You aren’t going to win this one.”

He seemed to debate whether or not he should listen to you before relenting, frowning when you made a show of downing the cup in one go.

“That is your last.” More statement than question, you hummed in agreement as you got down to work.

-

You knew Hank had asked you not to text him, but you couldn’t help yourself. Connor had briefly excused himself, leaving you to your thoughts and a string of messages you weren’t quite ready to send.

_**5:45 PM** “I can’t believe y-”_

_**5:46 PM** “Why did-”_

_**5:46 PM** “I’m so mad at you Hank **fuck-”**_

With a sigh, you erased yet another fragment and chucked your phone aside. Making Hank angrier than he already was wouldn’t help anything; if you were lucky, a shot or two on your own dime would fix him right up. It was _finding_ him that was the problem. Not to mention you hadn’t made so much as a dent in the ever growing list of work on your desktop; you weren’t sure you’d be leaving anytime soon, no matter the late hour. The clock on your monitor shifted in response, six PM had never looked so gloomy.

The day had gone amazingly fast, though. Having someone new around to explain everything to took a lot more than you thought it did. When you’d started, _Hank_ was the one having to go over all the protocol mumbo jumbo, though his intro lessons had amounted to _don’t fuck up_ and _don’t annoy me_. Connor had had ample amounts of questions, ranging from the general state of affairs in cases to personal ones, which had made you pause. You hadn’t expected an android to ask you if you enjoyed working here, but there he was, starry-eyed and legitimately intrigued.

Somewhere between cracking your second and third knuckle Connor reappeared, leaning respectively over your shoulder to address what it was you’d been so engrossed in all morning and afternoon. You didn’t have time to minimize your windows – you were caught _red-handed_.

“Please tell me you haven’t been doing all of this by yourself.”

“ _Nooo_?”

He gripped your shoulder, turning you in your chair. Something that shouldn’t have had the hairs on the back of your neck rising, yet here you were, staring up at a profusely angry android.

“I’m here to help you,” he began. You were getting scolded! “Did you forget that?”

“No, no. Uh. You just didn’t ask?”

He frowned.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you on your first day?” You tried again.

Connor shook his head, LED blinking red. Was he really angry? You watched as he stood, reached under your desk despite your shout of protest, and found yourself standing at the door with all your belongings before you could so much as realize what was going on.

“You’re going home.” He said before you could ask. “I have the rest covered. Please enjoy your evening, Detective.”

“But-“

“I’m insisting.”

Your foot began tapping despite yourself, all the ways you could defer him coming to mind. Before you could even open your mouth Connor had a hand in your face, looking more annoyed than ever. It was… strangely human.

“I watched you drink not one, but _two_ pots of coffee today, followed by a complete lack of nutritional consumption and overall lack in dietary care. Not only that, but you allowed me to waste an _entire_ afternoon while you worked away, wasting ample precious time.” He blinked, looking away for an instant before rounding back into you. “I’ve clocked you out, Hannah; again, enjoy your evening.”

You stutter stepped for a good minute before whispering condescendingly, “I am an _adult_.”

“That isn’t what you said this morning.”  
  
You nearly choked on your own spit, jaw dropping as Connor gave you what could only be considered a _smirk_ before turning heel, leaving you to gape at his back.

“What the _hell_ was that?”

-

It was six thirty-two in the evening and you were _home_.

Sitting quietly on your couch, still in disbelief, you truly didn’t know what to do with yourself. It’d been _years_ since you’d associated yourself with free time, and suddenly being thrown back into it made you feel like the awkward ex texting that you wanted to get back together after two years no contact. What did normal people do to pass the hours of their nights? You should have been neck deep in empty cups and drowning out Hank’s music right about now, not scrolling twitter and wondering if you should actually eat _dinner_ for once. Hank would be fussing at you to eat at _least_ half his fries, and you’d be shoving a cup of water his way; the only _Aquafina_ his veins would see that day.

Yeah, this was weird.

You spent the remainder of the night in a haze of sorts, wandering, cleaning here and there, attempting and failing to keep your focus for more than ten minutes on the pages of a book Hank had loaned you earlier that month. In the end, you ordered takeaway and picked up where you’d left on a series that hadn’t seen your viewership in _months_. Hell, you couldn’t even remember what the first half had been about, but your stomach was full, your body weary, and for the first time in a long time you were in bed by midnight.

Connor, you decided, was good in your book.

-

The next morning, Hank was waiting for you at the front door, scratching at the back of his neck and looking more awkward than you felt as you hovered together.

“Look,” he finally started, “You know how it is.”

“I know how it is.” You nodded. He huffed a laugh, head shaking, “So we’re good?”

You made a brief show of pondering on it, finger to chin, mouth scrunched, eyes aloft. Hank swore under his breath when you showed no intentions of actually answering, playfully shoving you aside, “Fuck off, let’s get this over with.”

Connor was, as you knew he would be, waiting inside for the two of you to arrive. And while Hank didn’t necessarily _greet_ him, he didn’t outright dismiss him altogether, either. With the smallest of inclinations, he dipped his head and then collapsed into his chair, as per usual. Connor looked at him, then to you, noting the thumbs up you flashed him.

“Good morning,” he intoned. “You seem well rested.”

“I am.” And really, you were. For the first time in recent memory, at that. You took your seat, booting up the machine before rolling your shoulders back. “I have all this newfound energy just _raring_ to go. I’m gonna finish, like, all the files today. All of them.”

“Are done.”

Your fingers halted where they were, lost somewhere in your login password. A chuckle made its way past your lips as you rotated in your chair. Hank was looking too, eyebrows furrowed.

“You research how to make jokes last night, Connor?” You smiled; boy, did he look proud. You bet he knew like, fifty knock-knock jokes now. But Connor didn’t laugh, nor smile, he simply folded his hands neatly and matched your stare with his own calm, collected one.

“We’re up to date on all paperwork; I’ve even taken the privilege of answering the backlog of emails you two had on your computers. Our day is now completely free to deal with the crisis at hand, that being the file I sent to you two early this morning.”

You blinked, looked to Hank, then blinked again. Connor motioned at your monitor, watching you turn, login, and open the software for him.

“It should be the only one marked unread, Detective.” He continued.

And fuck, was he right.

“How the _shit_ ,” you swore, scrolling frantically. “Connor, _how the shit_.”

“I do not require sleep.” He said. “Now, if you’ll allow me to update you on our latest case...”  
  
-  
  
Several hours later, after a bit of convincing and no small amount of begging, Connor relented to a small bathroom break in favor of filing a few technical reports he’d set aside for later in the day. Safe to say, the two of you nearly leapt from your chairs, hightailing it to the break room before the android could get a word in edge wise. Whoever Amanda was, you could have kissed her at that moment.  
  
“I think I hate him.” Hank concluded, crumpling an empty cup. “I mean, I already knew I did, but now, _now_ I’m certain. I hate him!”  
  
You sighed, leaning into the counter-top. Man, your butt hurt. Sitting for so long was such a pain, especially when you were expected to actually pay attention to something. Not that giving your full attention to Connor was a bad thing; and no, it wasn’t because he was easy on the eyes or anything.  
  
“I think he’ll surprise you,” you finally said, trailing into your own thoughts. The android really _was_ something. Able to pick up on human traits, phrases, and what on anyone else would be otherwise mundane human gestures at what would be considered an almost alarming rate, it was easy to forget he wasn’t _human_ in the first place. If it weren’t for the LED on his temple, you might have never known.  
  
“ _Cyberlife_ _has_ outdone themselves this time,” you concluded, nodding to yourself. Hank scowled.  
  
“If you say so. Little prick is already climbing my last nerve.”  
  
“You say that like you had any to spare.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I like you or you’d be right there with him.”  
  
You chuckled, falling into comfortable silence. How long had it been since Hank had lasted more than a few hours at the station? It was nearly lunch and despite the slump in his shoulders and the bags beneath his eyes, the man was still here. However reluctantly; safe to say, you were kind of proud. Maybe Fowler had been right. Maybe this was the fresh breath of air you two had needed.  
  
The tinkling of metal broke you from your thoughts, and you turned to find Hank dangling the cruiser keys tantalizingly in the air.  
  
“We should ditch him.”  
  
“Hank.”  
  
“I should ditch both of you?”  
  
“Hank!”  
  
“Fine, dammit.”

When you returned, Connor was waiting, looking for all the world like he could start wagging his tail at any moment. The eagerness in which he threw himself into his work made a twinge of guilt gnaw at your insides; all you really wanted to do was swivel a few rotations in your chair, drink another cup of coffee and maybe browse _Reddit_ for a while.

“I’ve received several text messages while you two were away. They’re ready for us out on the scene.”

Despite your tendencies to carsickness, you allowed Connor to sit up front; though, doing so exposed him first hand to the terrors of Hank’s music and the consequences of daring to so much as look at the volume knob.  
  
“Try that again and I’ll chop it off.” Was the only warning he would get, and you stifled a giggle before a sudden turn had you flopping back into your seat. When did you decide to get all selfless, again?  
  
With Connor up front there was a distinct lack of conversation save for a few scant points of a finger or urges in lane changes. Furthermore, no matter his frustrations and several minutes of back and forth arguing, nothing was going to stop Hank Anderson from grabbing a burger before heading to the scene. A habit that had long since lost its depravity to you, but seemed a fresh new horror to your newest addition.  
  
“Don’t forget my coffee!” You shouted after him, leaning out the window long enough to catch the brief pass of fingers he threw over shoulder. Connor’s disapproving gaze found you when you crawled back in, eyebrows furrowed.  
  
“Do you ever _eat_ anything? I noticed this morning that your clothing is very loose on your body. If you’re dieting, I don’t see any reason why. Your BMI and height-“  
  
“Connor,” you began sweetly, “you oughta know better than to mention a woman’s weight.”  
  
The LED on his head blinked rapidly, yellow blue yellow, then, “Oh. I apologize, Detective. That was rude, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Eh.” You gave him a grin, “I just like messing with you. This is the last place you’ll catch me eating, though.”  
  
Upon Hank’s return your reasoning was quickly validated by a soggy pile of greasy burgers and flimsy fries. You could almost hear the gears turning in Connor’s head - not literally, you reminded yourself - and found it to be no surprise when, unable to help himself, “Lieutenant…”  
  
Hank grunted, shoving a messy mouthful in with one hand and passing your drink with the other. Connor made a sound akin to clearing his throat, “I regret to inform you of the health code violations this particular establishment has been graded. You may want to reconsider.”

The man fixed him with a level stare, took a hearty bite, then shoved the keys into the ignition without another word.

“They make a good iced coffee, though.” You whispered to yourself, sipping.

Like most scenes, the gaggle of both officer and pedestrian people loitering around the outskirts of your case had your anxiety quickly rising. You hated having an audience. Everyone had an opinion, and more often than not you’d wind up dragging Hank around by the arm rather than getting any work done yourself. That said, Connor had both of you beat when he practically ran from the car, stepping up to the first person of authority he could find.

However, “No androids. Get the hell out of here.”

Enthusiasm had nothing on bigotry.

“He’s with us,” you sniffed, shoving past the look of confusion and anger that was directed your way. Hank was one thing, but a total stranger? Yeah, you didn’t have time for that nonsense.

“This is usually where you’d say _thank you,”_ Hank said somewhere behind your back. Already, you could visualize that LED blinking in surprise.

“There’s no need to defend my reputation, Detective. Android bias is quite common among humans; no need to put your own name on the line for me.”

“I _will_ slap you,” was the only thing you said to that, much to Hank’s amusement and Connor’s growing distress. Still, he said nothing as the three of you shuffled into the tiny, cornered off section of alleyway another officer had directed you to. The lighting was poor, but it was easy to see why you were here. You pulled out your phone, light flashing.

She was around your age. Human: thin, a little waif of a thing, honestly. An arc of ginger hair lay accentuated over splashes of sticky blood and highly pronounced against her very pale skin. From here you could see the angry, raised bruises around her neck, wrists, and barren ankles.

Her body lay at a terrible angle, and you crouched beside her, ignoring Connor and Hank as they moved around you.

“Clothes in ruins,” you mumbled, eyeing the shreds of what had once been a blouse. “Skirt torn… no shoes, or socks… Fingernails intact, as well. No struggle.”

The longer you looked, the more bruises you found over her body. Blunt force trauma to the head, as well as a river of blood between her legs. Something you’d noted with disgust as you shielded her body with your own.

“I’m gonna see if there were any witnesses,” Hank groused before stamping off. He didn’t want to see this any more than you did, though –

You lost track of any thought you may have ever had when, to your absolute nightmare, Connor dipped two fingers into a particularly thick bauble of blood and brought it to his lips.

Wide-eyed, disgusted, you really _did_ slap him that time, shoving his wrist from his mouth, “What the shit, Connor? Don’t do that!”

Stunned, he turned to you, fingers smeared in red, “I…” His LED blinked from yellow to blue, and he _smiled_ , “I believe I forgot to mention. My mouth is equipped to analyze samples at the scene; _Cyberlife_ intended it to be a critical time saving feature.”

“I see…” Nah, still gross. Even the smell of blood made your stomach turn, let alone taking a big lick of the stuff. “Well, do your thing then.”

You made yourself watch, convincing yourself it was out of a mixture of disgust _and_ intrigue. Not just a reason to watch him pop two fingers in his mouth and thoughtfully roll them over his tongue.

“Hm.”

“ _Red Ice?”_

“No, actually.” He stood, brushed his hands cleaned. “Everything is coming back normal. Her blood is absent of anything that may have led to an untimely death. One would assume this was a textbook assault and nothing else.”

“Lovely,” you concluded. “I love a good murder mystery.”

You found Hank sulking down the stairs, hunched over a pad of paper. The guy had always been old fashioned, no matter how many times you offered him your phone for note-taking he always preferred this method. You only wished he had better handwriting…

He glanced up at your approach, “These fucking people,” he started, waving the pad, “annoy _the_ _hell_ out of me.”

“Everyone annoys you, Hank. Anyone have anything interesting to say?”

“Never,” he huffed, flipping a page. “Girl was a regular at one of the bar’s near here; lot of people knew who she was. Couldn’t shut up about what a shame it was…”

“Maybe I should go speak to a few of them?” Connor suggested. You and Hank shared a look.

“Probably a bad idea,” you replied. “But I won’t stop you from poking around. Just… try to stay within eyesight, okay?”

“Don’t forget we share the same title, Detective.” Connor said, then turned to go. You felt a little bad. Yes, you _were_ on the same level. But it wasn’t that you were trying to tell him what to do! All the same, guilt nagged at you, and just as you started to worry at your bottom lip Hank put a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“You’re nicer than me. I would have told him to go back to the car.”

“To keep him safe?”

“Nah, so I don’t have to fucking look at him. Anyway, lady was last seen walking out with someone around five PM. Kind of risky if you ask me; daytime murders make for quick turnaround.”

“Was it normal for her to leave with anyone?” You asked.

Hank shrugged, “Young lady at a bar? I’m sure it wasn’t completely out of the equation. Didn’t seem like any of them were too concerned about it. The manager is down there if you wanna talk to him. Guy was a real asshole, even for me.”

You were already whipping out your phone and down the stairs. Hank waved, “I’ll be in the car! Burgers getting cold.”

Those who had been milling about seemed to have gotten their fill of the drama and made off. Not uncommon; clearing heavily populated areas was always a pain in the ass, and a normalcy for Detroit. You shoved your free hand in your other pocket, toying with a few scraps of trash that were curled in there. On your screen you tapped out a few choice things Hank had mentioned, adjusted your scene notes a bit, and erased all the lingering notifications hovering on your sidebar. Nervous habit, you swore.

It wasn’t hard to find the man you were looking for; you weren’t the first to do so, after all. Connor was already there, looking frustrated. He seemed relieved when he heard your feet clicking the last few steps down the street.

“You say you didn’t know her personally, but your heart rate is beyond normal measure. If there’s anything you want to say, now is the time, Mr. Curchell.”

“I’ve told you twice now, _no_ I didn’t fucking _know_ her, know her. I run a bar, do you know how many people I see in a day? A face in the crowd, that’s all she was. Doesn’t mean I can’t identify her!” The man sighed, pressing at his temple. “Fucking androids, how about _listening_ to me instead of running bioscans?”

You dipped between the two of them, smiling pleasantly, but before you could so much as greet him Curchell stabbed a finger your way, “Is this thing yours?”

“ _He_ is _with_ me, if that’s what you mean.” You extended a hand, grasping the finger in a crushing hold to shake it up and down. “I’m Detective (L/N); I’d love it if you filled me in on what you and _Connor_ have been talking about.”

The guy shook his head, swearing, “The fuck ever. Look, I don’t know what you want me to say, but if it’s _I didn’t kill her_ then there you go. She came in, same as every other day, sat and had a few drinks and then left with a guy. Why aren’t you talking to my _bartender_? Yanno, somebody she’s slept with or something.”

“We’ll get to him.” You said, then made a show of looking at your phone, “Kind of early for someone to be drinking… Is she dating the employee you said she slept with?”

“None of my business,” he replied, chuffed. “Marcy was a weird girl. Some days she came in really late, others really early. She was just always _there_ , at some point or another, didn’t matter.”

“Detective,” Connor interrupted. “He’s failed to mention the occasion on which our victim turned him down on a request for a,” he paused, “ _date_? An outing between two people with often romantic inflection.”

“I don’t have a grudge, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Curchell shook his head, “Arthur is a good guy, I know he wouldn’t do anything like this, either. You’re looking for someone else, I _know_ it.”

“That’s why we’re here,” you said, pocketing your device. “Whatever happened here, we’ll figure it out, and we’ll bring the hammer down on the asshole who did it. So relax; there’s gonna be a lot of eyes on this place, up to you whether or not you let your employees know. For now though, that’s all we need. Thank you for your time.”

“Yes, thank you.” Connor mimicked you, though Curchell could only be bothered to meet either of you with anything more than a glare.

“I should thank you, too,” He continued, turning your way. “As you feared, he wasn’t very receptive to speaking with me.”

“Most won’t be,” you said. “I’m just trying to be honest here, Connor. I hope it didn’t come off the wrong way earlier.”

He shook his head, “As an android, I am incapable of feelings, so worry not. I am indifferent to your words.”

“Must be nice.” You made a vague gesture to your head, smiling, “Wish I could turn this crazy thing off. Be a lot quieter in there.”

To that, Connor looked at you oddly. His LED spun and spun, regarding you. But he never said anything, just looked at you with his strangely warm eyes. More human, ironically, than many you saw on a day to day basis. The world was cold, but Connor radiated a warmth you weren’t sure you could coin to inner mechanisms alone.

“I want to speak with this _Arthur_ before we go anywhere,” Connor finally said, relenting.

“Ditto.”

As it turned out, Arthur, more rather Mr. Waltrip, wasn’t in that day. The two of you tried not to mark the action as suspicious immediately, seeing as the rest of the staff made a point to remark several times about him always be late, MIA, or both.

“It _is_ weird, though.” You said in passing, peeking into the back of the kitchen. Connor nodded in agreement, eyeing any passing personnel that happened to stare too long. “Timing looks terrible for him.”

“Are you two looking for Arty?”

You hadn’t seen her at first; nervous, hovering in the corner, she scratched the back of her neck, “The bartender, Arthur Waltrip?”

“What do you know of him?” Connor asked. She bit her lip, looking askance. The kitchen staff had filtered out, running vacuums in the other room as they prepared for service. Or, you figured, they were probably cleaning so they could go home. Who would want to come here knowing one of these people could have killed someone?

You’d seen weirder, you reminded yourself.

“I got a text from him this morning,” she began. “He told me he wouldn’t be in today. Wasn’t feeling up to it.”

“Any particular reason why?” You shrugged, “Sick? Personal leave?”

“Well,” she twirled a singular strand of hair, one way and then the other, then back again. “Well…”

“It’s alright,” Connor pressed, “We’re with the Detroit Police Department. Anything you tell us could be paramount to figuring out what happened to that girl.”

The woman flinched, eyebrow pulled in irritation, “Yeah, I know. Arty’s girl. He was mad she left with another guy last night.” She sighed, crossing her arms, “Can’t blame her. He _was_ handsome.”

Before you could stop him, Connor was past you and in the girl’s space, “You saw him? Can you tell us what he looked like?”

“He was pretty hot, I guess.”

You stifled a sound of amusement when Connor visibly collapsed at that, “Please… personal identifiers would be better. Hair color? Height? Weight?”

Again, she shrugged, “I dunno. Tall? He had a hat on.”

“A hat.” You echoed. And tall. This was wonderful. “Did he come in alone?”

She went back to curling her hair, shrinking in on herself, “Look, I don’t know… I’m just glad Arty didn’t go after them. Who knows what could have happened!”

The rest of your talk was more of the same; she’d get huffy long enough to stress how much she didn’t like their dead victim, worry over her coworker, and then clam up again, a ball of nervous energy that was getting you nowhere fast. Connor took her name, Veda Jacobs, and the two of you left her to resume her day. Curchell slunk by on your way out, and you managed to heckle a promise to the video feeds out of him before he crept away.

“I love my job, I love my job,” you sang as you took the steps outside two at a time, keeping pace with Connor. He’d been quiet since you’d spoken with Veda, lost in his own thoughts as he likely ruminated over all the little details you’d acquired. All you had in mind was the sweet, sweet joe waiting for you back in the car, and how it hopefully hadn’t watered down _too_ terribly.

“Any thoughts so far?”

“Eh,” you said, not skipping a beat. “A few. Yourself?”

“… a few.” He smiled, looking over to you. “Are you always so self-assured?”

“Oh, trust me. I have _no_ idea who did what here. Seems like we’ve got an angry love triangle that didn’t end well. Honestly, I feel guilty for wasting your time here, Mr. Advanced Analyzing Software. How did that taste anyway?”

“An amalgamation of plasma, white blood cells – “

You burst out laughing, “Yes! _That’s_ what I meant. No, how did it _taste_ you dork; like…” Huh, you’d never tried to explain how to taste, _taste_. “Flavor wise. Isn’t it gross? I mean, you could have asked _Cyberlife_ to put it literally anywhere else. Like the palm of your hand or something.”

“Would _you_ enjoy tasting every counter top and surface you happened across, Hannah?”

For half a second you got caught in his warm brown eyes, trying not to remark on just how cute the teasing crease to his smirk was.

“Nah, you’re right. I bet coffee would taste _extra_ good with a suped up tongue, though.”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Connor promised. “Now, I certainly hope Hank was doing something _productive_ in there…”

You could have warned him, but as you were quickly learning, his innocent reactions were a lot more enjoyable. The look of betrayal on Connor’s face had you rolling again, wiping a tear as you made your way to Hank’s side and rapt on the door.

“Wake up, ya lazy bastard!”

Yes, Hank had been sleeping. You certainly weren’t surprised, knowing full well that after that many burgers any human would have immediately lapsed into a food coma. He didn’t even jump at your knock, cracking one eye open as though to say, _“Why’d you have to come back so soon?”_ before wiping away a line of drool and pressing the unlock button.

“And no,” you said, stopping Connor before he could even ask, “he was _not_ dreaming about the case.”

-

It was late when you finally reclined back into your seat, stretching hard and fighting a yawn. The three of you had returned to log everything into a tidy spreadsheet, one you’d insisted on typing despite Connor’s protests – “I can type much faster than any human, Detective” – if only because you wanted to get to choose the font.

“I don’t believe _Whale I Tried_ is very professional.” The android had piped in again. You shushed him promptly, sipping the _one_ coffee he’d allowed you. Boy was gonna have to _deal_.

He hovered somewhere behind you as Hank had chosen to collapse into his own seat again, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. It was better than watching Connor play with his coin, he’d explained; the android had begun the curious habit upon returning to the precinct, flipping and turning it with expert precision. He’d allowed you to try on your request, only to watch you flip the coin somewhere under a desk across the room.

“So we’re settling on _love triangle,_ then?” Hank surmised. “What a fucking joke.”

“You’re just mad that I got to talk to the cute kitchen girl and you didn’t.” You threw him a look, “Bet she’d have stabbed me if I’d so much as _looked_ at her beloved _Arty_.”

“Do we have any reason to believe an android to be involved?” Connor asked. You shrugged, “Won’t know until tomorrow; Curchell texted me a bit ago saying that the feeds would ‘ _take time’_. Codeword: I’m fixing the footage.”

He grimaced, “And you’re okay with that?”

Laughing, you flipped a pen, dropping it, too, on the floor, “What am I going to do about it? People are terrible, Connor. You’re going to have to learn that. I can almost guarantee this guy will do anything to protect his business, even if it means committing a crime of his own.”

When he turned away, unable to meet your eyes, you sighed, “Look, I’m just messing around. There’s only so much he can do. There’s half a dozen other stores before you hit that alleyway; I’ve already made like fifteen calls. We’ll have a good picture of the guy in no time.”

He said nothing, LED blinking. To your utmost surprise, Hank chipped in, “You thinking the hat means it’s an android trying to disguise himself?”

Connor nodded, “Yes. Yes I am. As you both know, I’ve been sent to heavily involve myself in cases around deviancy, otherwise, well, what was the point in creating me?”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. After all, you _liked_ Connor. Who couldn’t? If Hank didn’t have a stick the size of a grudge up his ass you knew he would, too. But… how exactly did you comfort someone who claimed to not have feelings in the first place?

“Well,” Hank said, breaking the silence. “I need a drink. You coming?”

Tipping your cup, you shook your head, “Gonna see what I can make of our regular Ted Bundy here. You go on without me.”

He laughed, collected his things and – well, he ignored Connor, shoving past without another word.

“But he didn’t give you the bird!” You encouraged. “Look at you, day two and he’s already _neutral_. Hope remains for you yet, Connor boy.”

The android smiled; again, you could nearly see the tail wagging furiously behind him. Precious, you decided.

“You know,” you sang, “that’s the first time Hank’s lasted about a full shift in over six months. I’m proud of you, partner.”

Connor preened, chest puffing, “Well, I don’t know if I’m the one responsible for such a thing, but I’m glad I could be of service.” He then crossed his arms, frowning down at you, “although, if that’s the case, I have a lot of work to do in regards to _both_ of you.”

Your jaw dropped, hand clutching your figurative pearls, “ _Connor_ ,” you gasped, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not really part of my mission, but…” Trailing off, he stared in Fowler’s general direction, eyeing the darkened office space. The man had been gone for several hours, much like the rest of the department. For a moment his LED rotated, a now familiar sequence of colors.

“ _Cyberlife_ never implemented any reasoning in which to _not_ aid in your personal lives. And I believe that if you and the lieutenant were held to healthier standards, it would not only positively affect our relationships, but our work here as well. Both of which I believe Amanda will be happy to see.”

“She wants you to enjoy your work?” You asked, genuinely curious. The only thing you knew of this Amanda was that Connor kept her frequently updated on his findings and whereabouts. It seemed rude to pry, but he’d brought her up first, and the temptation was too much for you. “What’s she like, anyway? Is she, uh,” you fumbled, blushing. _Your handler_ sounded _way_ too ignorant for your liking.

But, “My _handler_ , yes.” He nodded, nonplussed. “Amanda is an AI crafted by Elijah Kamski; I’m sure you’re familiar?” When you nodded, he continued, “Essentially she keeps me on task, making sure I’m actively working towards fulfilling my appropriated mission. _Cyberlife_ keeps a concise schedule, so… she often has to remind me to hurry things along. But aside from that, I guess you could say she’s _nice_.”

“There is so much to explore and do here, though,” he lamented, turning from you. “At every given opportunity I find myself wandering. You humans say and do such _strange_ things sometimes; I find it difficult to determine what to do. Even when it comes to something as simple as small talk.”

“So what you’re saying,” you teased, “is that Hank and I are making things harder for you?”

You expected him to agree, sure. But it hurt in an odd kind of way when he really _did_ nod, lessened only by the hint of a smile. He turned, eyes warm, “I believe you would said you make things harder in… a good way.”

“A good way.” You grinned. You could work with that.

To your utter amazement, for the second day in a row – a new record – you left with enough time to actually do something for yourself. Like shower, and _eat,_ of all things. Foreign concepts that had been lost to the annals of time, and to overwhelmingly boring paperwork, of course. You currently stood over a steaming omelet, fiddling with a coin you’d found in your coat pocket. No matter how you tried, it clattered to the floor with every trick you attempted, soon finding itself tossed halfway across your home in frustration.

Coin tricks sucked, anyway.

… except when Connor did it. He was okay. _You guessed_.

You were curled up on your couch, mouth full, tapping a text to Hank when another notification surprised you. It was from an unknown number; probably spam, you thought, pressing send.

You nearly dropped your phone when you realized it was from _Connor_ , instead.

 **8:09 PM** _“Forgive me for contacting you during non-work hours. I thought it beneficial to provide you with my number in case of emergency._

_-Conner”_

  
  


Who had given him your number? Fowler probably, you figured. Another way to keep you and Hank in line; that’s what he’d likely intended it for. You wondered how long it would take the Captain to realize Connor wasn’t exactly the mean, _walking all over you_ type of android he’d surely wanted him to be. Instead you’d been partnered with someone who had more tact and personality than ¾ of your department. You put your plate to the side, tapping.

  
  


**8:13 PM** _“Hank and I text all the time; you can contact me whenever ya like.”_

**8:15 PM** _“Alright, thank you very much, Detective. I’ll keep that in mind.”_

Feeling cheeky, you snapped a picture of your plate.

**8:18 PM** _img. Attached(1)_

**8:18 PM** “ _How ya like me now?”_

You chuckled, tossed your phone aside and turned your television off for the night. The promise of another early evening in bed was too endearing, crisp sheets alluring as hell after months of drowsing off in nothing more than your office chair. Padding off to bed, you took your meds, threw off your clothes and snuggled in before so much as glancing at your phone again. It reminded you a little of high school, hiding under the covers while texting a _boy._ Well, an android boy, but still.

 **8:31 PM** _“Are you referencing a song by_ _The Heavy, released in 2009?_

**8:33 PM** _“_ _No, it’s… shit. Okay like, it’s supposed to be sassy,_ _you know? I’m joking with you again._ _Some things don’t relay through text very well lol”_

**8:35 PM** _“I see.”_

**8:35 PM** _“Teasing appears to be a_ _symbol_ _of affection. A sign that you like and or care for me._ _Is this true, Detective?”_

Shit. Were you blushing? No, no definitely not. You accounted the sudden rising heat to being cooped up under the covers. Damn duvet.

Still, what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Did you like Connor more than you were technically supposed to? He was cute, sure. But you thought lots of people were cute.

Connor was an android though. Did androids even have relationships? You pulled up your browser, typing in a quick search and -

Oh.

 _Oh_.

You scrolled through three pages of ads, purchasable _add-ons_ , and threads on r/Relationships before realizing you’d never texted Connor back. Oops.

He hadn’t replied; in fact, he was probably sitting at the station, LED blinking wildly, trying to process what kind of weirdo he’d been partnered with. You sighed, rubbing your face. Why were you like this?

**9:** **01 PM** _“Of course I care about you. We’re working together now, just like Hank and I. We’re-_

You paused, biting your lip. The terrible, horrible truth was that, in all things, you moved _way_ too fast and more often than not it got you into heaps of trouble. Something you’d always struggled with, especially in recent years.

“And now I sound like my doctor,” you grumbled.

**9:02 PM** _“We’re friends, Connor. Or we can be, if that’s what you want.”_

His reply was instantaneous.

 **9:01 PM** “ _Yes. I think I’d like that.”_

Man, these sheets were hot. You swallowed, tossed your phone aside like it had suddenly caught fire, and buried your head under your pillow. The you of tomorrow could deal with the steady, growing _thump_ in your chest, and the flashes of imagery Connor’s smiling face brought to mind. For now, you wanted nothing more than the sweet, sweet safety of sleep. Somewhere you couldn’t say stupid, damning things to an android who didn’t know any better.

The itch of hot, thick tears bit at the corners of your eyes. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
